


Like Darkness Impenetrable

by codenamecynic



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drow, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, sex in the underdark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: The party finds itself in the Underdark on a mission to recover a lost tome from the Ruins of Philock for Khem, the party's resident Red Wizard. In their company is Jarnath Vierin, an underhanded drow cleric who approached them in Waterdeep about an entirely separate quest. Harper bargained for his service as a guide through the Underdark as part of their agreement in taking the job, and it's been nothing but bedroom eyes and terrible banter ever since (much to the rest of the party's delight/chagrin...).Weeks of banter and flirtation finally come to fruition after a tough battle leaves emotions running high. Harper and Jarnath sneak away from the party in the Ruins of Philock for some time one on one.





	Like Darkness Impenetrable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onemooncircles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemooncircles/gifts), [bettydice (BettyKnight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyKnight/gifts), [Dakoyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dakoyone/gifts), [Fionavar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionavar/gifts).



> Filling in a fade to black moment in one of our sessions, because who doesn't want to have sex in a ruin?

He catches a flash of white teeth, lips curved into a feline smile, before the darkness swallows them whole.

It doesn't feel like anything. Harper thought perhaps it would, cold and effervescent like the rush of other magics over his skin, but the darkness is harmless - just pervasive. And still it’s unsettling enough that he steps back, blinking sightlessly behind the lenses that have thus far been the saving grace of human eyes unsuited to the  _ normal _ dark, nearly out of the curtain of shadow.

A hand stops him, grasping at his belt. It has a twin that collides with his chest, fingers battering like a bird's wing against glass, able to see no better than he. It seeks, crawling across the leather that shrouds his torso, and cocoons itself in his collar.

He is careful not to think of spiders.

The kiss is almost clumsy in its zeal, soft lips pressed too hard, teeth clinking. The angle is wrong, Harper's height an imposition, but that does nothing to quell Jarnath's enthusiasm. Both hands snare in the straps and buckles of his armor as though they are traps for wolves, the demand of tongue and teeth brought to bear.

Instinctively he takes control; steps in, leans down, closes his hand around the slim column of an unprotected throat. He can feel the throb of Jarnath's pulse racing beneath his fingers, beneath smooth ebon skin. Despite the unexpectedness, the uncertainty, the little voice in the back of his mind that names him a fool, he can feel his body surge, senses alight, a shark scenting blood in the water.

Jarnath's hands are in his hair now, clutching, pulling, and his mouth still tastes of wine and innuendo. He so easily smiles, if wryly, and it is a shame that Harper can't see it. He can feel, though, a tremor in the lithe figure unexpectedly willing to bend itself beneath his hands. The drow's body curves into his, back arched like a cat, the telltale press of something firm and hot against his thigh.

The words  _ obsidian rod  _ spring to mind, and unbidden he laughs.

"Don't be unkind," Jarnath chides, the petulance in his voice palpable at being deprived his prize. There is a whine to those words, but the fingers prying at the buckle of Harper's belt do much to excuse it.

"I doubt you of all people have much use for my kindness." 

"And here I am, so kind to  _ you _ ."

_ Only because you want something _ , he thinks to say, but the words are stripped from his mind as ruthlessly as feathers plucked from a bird; the fastenings of his breeches give way and a hot hand closes around his swelling cock.

He is hard in an instant, a groan swallowed behind bitten lips and his head flung back. There are teeth at his throat, lupine and sharp, and it feels good as much as it hurts. Makes him stupid. Makes him want things. He traps that hungry mouth against his shoulder, making a fist in the smooth white mane he so admires as his hips shudder forward, rutting dryly against hands much softer than his own.

_ So long _ , his mind whispers. It's been  _ so long _ , since-

He fights to turn in the tide of those thoughts, to steer himself away from rocks beneath the rapids, recollections of  _ who _ and  _ when _ and  _ how _ .

But if pretty young men are good for anything it's forgetting, and this one is prettier than most.

There are things he wants to do - violent things, possessive things, dark as the magic around him. The urge is stronger now than it sometimes is, to crush willfulness under his heel, to take command, to  _ inflict _ \- pain and pleasure and the desire to take, take, take. One hand moves down Jarnath's back to splay itself between his shoulder blades, gathering into the soft material of his foolish shirt as beautifully defined muscles bunch beneath it. He wants to twist it in his fist until it tears at the seams, shredded to useless rags, but Jarnath is fussy about his clothes and here they may not be so easily replaced.

Instead Harper pulls him back, dragging him down until his knees soften and bend.

"You could be even kinder," he hears himself say, the nonsense spilling from his lips effortless and without meaning. He's surprised when the drow doesn't fight him, sinking to his knees with a grace that Harper doesn't need to see to know, and takes the length of his cock into his mouth.

_ "Fuck." _ They should be quiet. How exposed they are isn't lost on Harper, barely out of the open street, protected by little more than a cloud. This seems foolish, but the sudden wet heat around him makes him reckless, wanton, greedy even. He chases the sensation, thrusting forward, deeper, until he hits the back of Jarnath's throat and stays. He can feel the drow quiver, smug and stubborn, throat working to accommodate. He holds him there until he feels a frission of resistance in the hands that press his thighs. Only then does he relent, the wet pop of Jarnath's mouth and a ragged gasp for air his reward.

Sharp nails dig into his flesh, and perhaps he has overstepped - but no. Jarnath bends to the task with the same eagerness as before. Fast and hard and deep, the sounds wet and obscene, accompanied by a low, inconsistent whine, like a shivering plea for more. Jarnath swallows around him and he stifles a groan, the slide of a small silver stud against the underside of his shaft enough to forgive the occasional rasp of teeth.

"You may consider a little less kindness, perhaps," he says at last. "Unless you fancy this being over rather before it's begun."

That makes Jarnath laugh, the sound a muffled hum that Harper can feel reverberating in the base of his spine.

"I shan't spoil you," Jarnath teases, the absence of his mouth an unpleasant coolness mitigated only by the longing trail of fingertips, slick in spit and sticky precum. Harper pulses, needing, wanting little more than to drive himself forward into that hot, wet hole in the darkness, and fuck away all thought.

He doesn't, though. He reaches to drag Jarnath up instead, hands on his shoulders and then in the lapels of his shirt. He kisses him and wishes for light, imagining the shine of wetness on the smooth onyx skin beneath his mouth. Jarnath's lips feel softer, swollen and bruised, and Harper traces them with his tongue, capturing the lower in his teeth.

He feels Jarnath shudder, hands dragging at the collar of his armor again as though it could be willed into disappearing, but then they are both mostly clothed. He can feel too the ridge of the thick silver piercing through the barrier of Jarnath's breeches, cock hard as ever. Jarnath whimpers, pleading like a pet for a treat, ablaze beneath the fabric when Harper seeks it with his hand.

He jerks away when his grip tightens with an equally rough intake of breath, hand lifting to take Harper's wrist.

"Come."

"Now?"

"Oh  _ do _ continue to be smug, you know how I enjoy it."

The exasperation in his voice makes Harper smile. "I live to serve."

If only he could see his face. Jarnath stifles something even more scathing, the act of will almost a physical thing. He pulls Harper toward him, navigating for them both with senses somehow still better in the dark, pushing Harper down unceremoniously to lie back on a cold, hard surface. A piece of wall, slowly sloping, toppled but intact. The stone is rough beneath the backs of his thighs, shifting to arch up as impatient hands pull at his trousers, tugging them down off his hips. A moment, a rustle of fine cloth, and the warmth of another body astride his has him hard to bursting in a second. The dark elf -  _ ha -  _ is slighter than he anticipated, his weight shifting easily as Harper's hips buck upward.

Curse the dark - he wants to  _ see _ , and in sight's absence he demands to  _ feel _ , extricating himself from the hands that steady themselves on his shoulders to do hastily away with the chest piece of his armor. Foolish, so foolish, but they are hardly in a defensible position to begin with, with swords, as it were, unsheathed.

The armor falls by the wayside and Jarnath, not nearly so polite with Harper's clothing, wraps both fists in the fabric of his shirt and pulls, straining the laces down the front until something snaps.

Harper digs his fingers into his back, pulling them down his spine. He can feel the smooth ripple of muscle beneath them as Jarnath arches, grinding his hips and his hard cock against the flat of Harper's stomach, teeth fastened like a vampire at the side of his throat.

"I need something-" Harper manages, the low pitch of his voice ragged. "Something to-"

"Here." A cold glass vial is pressed into his hand, a faint herbal smell exuding from its cork. Scented, of course. He wants to laugh again because that, if nothing else, seems entirely in character.

He slicks his fingers, his cock, and reaches to press his fingers into the base of Jarnath's spine, traveling downward to spread viscous oil in their wake. He can feel the drow quiver, rutting forward into him as his fingers find their mark, curling carefully, pressing in.

Teeth in his shoulder again, a quick jerk of hips forces two fingers in to the second knuckle.

"Easy," he hisses, pain and sudden worry in conflict with the way he can feel the steady pulse of his own beating heart through every nerve in his cock. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Trust me."  _ Trust me. _ "You won't."

He's tight, new but not brand new, and he mewls so nicely when Harper thrusts his fingers in deep, squirming in his lap, seeking a better angle, seeking friction.

Harper gives it to him, a slow pump of the wrist speeding mercilessly, a cruel twist of the fingers into that smooth spot within that makes hips jerk and unknown words spill from behind gritted teeth. He catches them in his mouth, smothering the sound into another needy moan, his shirt damp with sweat and precum where it's trapped between their bodies.

"I'll not wait any longer." It sounds almost like a threat.

"Who's spoiled now?"

_ "Harper." _ The plea shaped around his name is less a menace, and he relents, freeing his fingers and taking himself in hand.

This is not at all as he thought it might be. He's imagined polite inn beds with turned down sheets, illuminated by the strategic placement of red candles. He's imagined the kiss of whips and the bite of chains and the kind of scars left over that you never elaborate on in the baths. He's even imagined an awkward calling of bluffs, mutual rue rather than satisfaction, but he's never thought to imagine himself like this, rumpled, messy and in the dark, fucking desperation in a ruin.

There is, he thinks, a metaphor to be had in that.

It's an incremental slide. An inch at a time; slow, but steady. He doesn't stop until he's in to the hilt.

It's been far too long. He's missed this, the feel, the smell, the sensation of a man hard against him, over him, around him, and his cock throbs dangerously until he wills his lungs to work and sucks in a measured breath.

Control. At least, something like it. He counts it in meters instead of miles as he starts to move, and Jarnath with him, hands on hips that writhe like serpents' coils. He closes his mouth on the sounds that try to escape it, trapping them deep in his throat as his fingers bite into night-dark flesh all the harder for his restraint.

Jarnath's breath comes in little huffs when their hips meet, played out in tickling hush against the side of Harper's neck, the damp fabric of his shirt between straight white teeth.

"Don't stop," he orders, the low pitch of his voice imperious even in the most delicate of positions.

Harper bites back the urge to laugh. "I wouldn't dare, your highness."

There is a low grumble of annoyance from above him, and he really does laugh - and then winces as sharp teeth close on his ear.

"Harder, human." The word sounds almost like an insult, and Harper's hips snap upwards in response, trading long strokes for a short sharp staccato, drumming out a rough rhythm in hands that grasp and pull. He can feel Jarnath's thighs flex, riding him like any common beast.

"More," he hisses, whorish and needy, the sound shivering into Harper's ear. " _ More. _ Fuck me like you mean it. Like you  _ need _ it."

Now is hardly the time for pondering and deep thoughts but Harper never has been able to stop himself from thinking. Does he mean it? He doesn't know, can't even imagine what that looks like anymore.

Does he need it? That, he supposes, is more clear.

It's been a long day, a long walk, a hard fought battle. He still feels sticky with blood, venom and tears, the scent of poison in his hair, and all he wants to do, just for a little while, is forget.

He picks them both up off the slab and twists them over, whatever inane thing Jarnath would have said next choked off as his back hits the stones. Harper is on him again in an instant, hiking slim, well-muscled legs up to hook around his hips.

Harder. Deeper. More control, hands pinning shoulders like the paws of a great cat atop its prey, teeth at the jugular.

He thrusts as hard as he can, brutal, punishing, sweat running into his eyes and down his spine, every drop of blood to spare in his body pooling low in his stomach. The pressure builds at the base of his spine, and blindly he reaches for Jarnath's cock with fingers still slick with oil, feeling him swell and throb in his grasp.

He can wait - he hopes he can wait - still gentleman enough to scrabble back from the edge until his lover has been given his due.

It doesn't take long. The drow is too needy, too eager, and for once the gods decree in his favor.

Jarnath comes apart with a shout swallowed by Harper's hungry mouth, body drawn tight as a velvet vice. It takes little encouragement for Harper to follow suit, merely a second's delay of indecision before he pushes over the edge, pulling himself free at the last moment to spill himself on the stone between his knees.

The darkness, timely, dissipates, bringing their wreckage into clear view. Clearer, at least, with the lenses in place, though that seems a foolish thing with pants around his ankles. He peels away to pull them up, tucking his softening cock away and ignoring how it immediately stirs when he sees Jarnath trail a finger though the white stickiness of his seed where it glows still hot against the ink black of his torso.

He sighs, but it is, Harper thinks, a contented sigh. His ego, that fickle thing, is safely mollified.

But he's still not sure what to say. The courtier words that come so easily are also always half a lie, and whatever truths hide undiscovered in the back of his mind, he doesn't want to be rude. He also isn't ready yet to give up this pleasant secret with unsubtlety, and he pulls off his soiled shirt as Jarnath watches, a slanting smile on that generous mouth, as Harper dries the sweat from his face and hair.

Another appreciative hum from the drow has him shaking his head, amused despite himself at the way his cock tries to persuade the rest of him that they have any more energy to spare. He leans down and wipes away the sticky mess cooling across Jarnath's abdomen, permitting himself the quick, simple indulgence of lips pressed to the edge of a sharp hip bone. Jarnath's shirt is hardly in better shape than his own, but he pulls it down nonetheless, hiding the wink of piercings in nipple and navel that catch the light.

If this is a mistake, it is certainly an agreeable one. Jarnath smiles at him, shy not in the least, but curious. Harper is a strange animal with strange appetites, a mystery even now.

It makes Harper smirk, smug and entirely self-satisfied. He shouldn't be, it's stupid, but it's true all the same.

He thanks the happenstance that bid him bring his bag; it lies on the ground next to the rose-emblazoned rapier. He isn't sure what to make of that yet, but he has time yet to decide if, in light of these new developments, it means more than it ought. For now, he pulls on a clean shirt and tames the damp wild of his hair.

"We should get back."

"Mmn."

His eyebrows lift.   _ They'll miss us. _

That smooth, charlatan smile again.   _ Let them. _

It's tempting, but he requires sleep, even if Jarnath doesn't. He can feel acutely his aches now, a trembling weakness in his limbs when just a moment before he felt hale and whole and strong. Best cling to the pleasure while it still winds itself languidly through his body, best let it put him to sleep before the other thoughts in his mind crowd in with their myriad voices and prying fingers.

Jarnath relents, sitting up languidly on the stone slab like a sea creature rising from the foam. "You go, I'll follow."

Harper, leery as any sailor of drowning, nods his head and walks away.


End file.
